Second Chances
by KalenCaelli
Summary: Jordan Shepard had never planned on being a hero, never planned on dying. Now, given a second lease on life, she struggles to reconcile the monster she was with the hero she needs to be. Chapter 4: Our crew gets the full glamour treatment on Omega...
1. Miranda

**Title:** Second Chances

**Author:** KalenCaelli

**Rating:** M (for later chapters)

**Disclaimers:** Mass Effect 2, its characters, and its storyline are owned by Bioware. I merely borrowed them for a little bit. My version of Shepard is mine. This story will contain violence, sex, swearing and other things your mother warned you about.

**Author's Notes:** This story is a departure from my normal Dragon Age fair. I played this game for the first time probably a year ago and fell in love with it. Behind my original Dragon Age, it is probably my most played game of all time. That being said there are a few things I want to make clear.

This is not a finished story. I apologize for that, but with the impending release of Mass Effect 3, I thought it important to go ahead and get this story out. I still remain committed to you, my readers, never having a story that will go unfinished, but that being said, please do not expect updates on a regular interval. I will post updates as often as I can, given my work schedule, my volunteer schedule, and my home schedule. I will do my best to post as often as possible, but a lot depends on my muse's ability to keep up. I never want to put out an inferior product for the sake of publishing.

The second thing I want to point out is that while this story will cover events as laid out in Mass Effect 2, it is not going to be a carbon copy of that story in terms of dialogue, characterization, or even the stray plot departure. I will use elements from Mass Effect, and occasionally even dialogue, however. For the sake of clarity, any and all communication from a third party that takes place over a communicator will be in bold.

The final thing is that I do not know all the paths this story will take. That means any and all relationships are subject to change as I see fit. I would love to say that for sure Shepard would end up with either Miranda or Liara (those of you who know me know I'm a die-hard shipper of both).

As always, this is dedicated to the most wonderful lady in my life – my wife.

_Kalen_

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 1: Miranda<span>**

_Perfect._

Miranda Lawson trailed a finger across the porcelain skin, fingernails grazing over the curve of a hip. Those eyes grazed over a pair of perfectly round breasts, past the dip of a collarbone and up a long, lean neck. She traced the tip of an index finger across the silken smoothness of those lips, up across a curve of a brow, and down a cheek that was still marked with the faintest lines of pale scars.

She was _perfect_.

"Miranda!" Those azure eyes shot up, flashing in irritation. Wilson, that sexist prig, was glaring at her in annoyance, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the wall. "I thought you were off with Jacobs and Anderson doing some tech...thing."

The pent-up frustration of unspent lust. She smirked, allowing her hips to deliberately sway as she sauntered around the medical table. His eyes narrowed in anger, and Miranda almost laughed in delight. He _wanted_ her. From the moment she had first met him, she'd been aware of the way his gaze followed her across the room, unholy thoughts lurking behind those dark eyes. She had humored him, even indulged him, watching with satisfaction as he pushed himself beyond even his own limits.

And it had worked. The day Shepard's heart began beating was a personal triumph, the day they had transferred the memories an even greater one.

They had done the impossible.

"It's not too late, you know." Wilson's voice cut through her reverie. Seeing Miranda's confusion he hurriedly added, "For the control chip, of course."

She shook her head. No doubt Wilson would like to see Shepard with a control chip, which in and of itself should have been enough reason to refuse, but truth be told she had harbored her own reservations. Shepard, for all her heroism, was an unknown. Her previous actions suggested she would be less than sympathetic to Cerberus — the asari had all but assured her of that. But it was that empathy, that compassion, which had not only enabled Shepard to mold her previous crew into a force that had taken down both Saren and the Geth, but also save the Citadel from Sovereign.

They needed that now, more than ever. That fire. That passion. Limit her, and it was a possibility that she would be less than who she was.

_Unacceptable._

"There will be no control chip," the order carried a note of finality that drew an angry scowl from the Cerberus scientist. Miranda lifted her gaze, fixating the shorter man with a pointed stare. "Begin transferring the final algorithms. Inform me when she wakes up."

She left the room without waiting for a response.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

It was a peculiar thing, this sleep. Hovering on the edge of awareness, she dreamed.

At first, the dreams were muddled, glimpses of memories and feelings. Pain, joy, despair, even arousal, all jumbled up in a never-ending cycle. They eventually gave way to things more distinct. Mindoir. Torfan. Her mistakes, her triumphs, the demons that haunted her.

There were other memories too. A glimpse, a touch, a whisper of hot air against a naked ear. The slide of skin against skin. Ragged gasps, thrusts, and counterthrusts.

Then there was the darkness, whisperings of nightmares to come. The Reapers.

_You cannot escape me, Shepard. I will destroy you._

When she awoke, she was sweating.

The green eyes squinted open, slamming shut almost immediately from the glare of the overhead lights. They were too bright, and the pain ripped through her head...

**"Shepard."**

_Where the hell am I?_

**"Shepard, you have to wake up."**

That voice — it was familiar, feminine. She had heard it before. _Somewhere..._

**"Get up, damn it."** Panic now. **"They're coming to kill you."**

Those green eyes opened abruptly, and without even thinking about it, she rolled off the side of the table, landing on her elbows and knees. Nausea tugged at her belly, and she wretched a few times, bile tickling her throat.

That voice was talking again. Something about a locker and...

She pushed to her feet, padding on bare feet towards the indicated landmark. The lockers were along the far wall, but unsecured, and she found one that had a set of nondescript white armor with a small yellow and black logo. Now where had she seen that before?

**"Shepard, come in. Do you read me?"**

She dressed, then tapped the side of her helmet, toggling the com switch. "Who the hell is this?"

A pause. **"There's no time. You have to get moving. This facility has been compromised. They're coming to kill you."**

"Who's coming...?" The comlink crackled off. "Damn it!" those green eyes narrowed, examining the clip in her sidearm. Empty. Great. Just what she needed.

**"There's a clip ahead of you on the ground."** _Now, how the hell did she...Oh_. Those eyes immediately leveled on a tiny, nearly inconspicuous security camera in the corner of the room. So she was being watched.

"One more time, who the hell are you? And what the hell happened to my crew?" Those memories were muddled, hazy glimpses into the past and flashes of clarity.

_A figure, long and lean, banging against the viewport..._

A sharp pain flashed behind her eyes, and then there was a sucking sensation, as if all the air was being pulled out of the room. Spots began to swim in the periphery, and she fell to her knees, gasping, clawing...there was a voice screaming at her on the intercom, but she didn't hear it. She couldn't breathe. Hands pulled at her helmet, whipping it off, grabbing at her face and throat. Her face...what had happened to her face?

**"God damn it. Breathe! You're panicking. Shepard, breathe!"**

She inhaled sharply, a deep, shuddering gasp that left her head pounding and her heart racing. Another breath, and her pulse began to slow.

She panicked. She never panicked. Not since...

**"Shepard, come in."**

She pawed at her comlink, still slightly dizzy from the memories.

"Where is my crew?" Each word was like the crack of a whip. "And who the hell are you?" Words were spoken slowly, deliberately, so there was no misconception.

You didn't _fuck_ with Jordan Shepard.

Another pause, and this time Jordan could hear the deliberate catch in the voice. **"My name is Miranda,"** spoken after a moment's hesitation. **"I was there the first time you woke up. Do you remember that?"**

She did now. They were vague memories, fuzzy. She remembered an incredible pain, and a woman standing over her body, yelling for more sedatives. A woman, so now she had a face to pair with the name. _Miranda._

Jordan glanced around the room, her eyes honing in on that unfamiliar logo now. Where was she? Not an Alliance facility, surely.

It was starting to come back to her. The alert, the attack. Red lights flashing overhead. The groan of cracking bulkheads and scream of blaring alarms. Shouts and frantic cries suddenly silenced. The Normandy was burning.

_I'm not leaving without you._

_Liara, go. _

**"I will answer whatever questions you have as soon as we are out of harm's way. Just know that Doctor T'Soni is safe. You, however, have mechs closing rapidly on your position. If you do not get a thermal clip soon, you are going to die."**

She was moving even before Miranda had finished speaking. Jordan picked up the clip on the way to the main door, slamming it into her sidearm and noting grimly that it was only at half-capacity. Every shot needed to count.

Leaning against the wall, she inhaled deeply, taking a moment to steady her nerves. Slamming her hand against the switch for the door, she entered the next room as soon as the metal parted, darting for the nearest cover, a low-lying planter three meters in. A few stray bullets passed overhead, wild shots, mostly. And quickly she ducked out from behind cover, sending two bullets towards a lumbering mech across the room.

Its head exploded, the body collapsing in a shower of sparks and smoking circuitry. Without waiting to check her progress, Jordan spun out from the cover, sidearm ready as she paced towards the fallen mech, grimly noting that its rifle had fused to its hands as a result of the explosion. Another bullet flew overhead, and this time she fired without thinking, hitting the second mech in both kneecaps and one wrist before it collapsed.

She holstered the sidearm this time, examining the mech's rifle. It was unmarked, military issue, though not standard Alliance fare. Semi-automatic with a nearly full clip, which was a promising start. No laser scope though, and from what she could tell it would need some serious modifications to withstand any punishment.

Then again, beggars can't be choosers.

**"Shepard, come in...large mechs clos...have t..."** whatever message this Miranda had been trying to send clearly faded into static. Not good, Jordan noted grimly, quickly picking up her pace. This clearly had turned into a rescue operation, and as usual, someone else was holding all of the cards.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

There were just too many of them.

Jacob Taylor crouched behind a narrow railing, wincing as the glass shook against the hailstorm of bullets. It was supposed to be bulletproof, but he didn't like taking chances. The only other cover was a narrow pillar, and every time he tried to leave his current position he was forced back by the ten or so mechs across the way.

A small gap in the firing window opened, and he stood up from cover, sending a wild spray of fire across the walkway, followed by a pull with biotics that sent at least one mech tumbling towards its doom. Still, more reinforcements arrived, and there was even more than before. How many of these damn things were there?

"Need a hand?" The distinctly feminine voice came from his left, and Jacob did a double take as soon as he realized who it belonged to. _Shepard... but how the hell...?_

"You're not supposed to be up yet." Those green eyes narrowed in anger that quickly gave way to something else. Something dangerous. Deadly. He barely suppressed a shudder.

This was the _real_ Commander Shepard. The hero of legends. The savior of the Citadel.

And probably the galaxy's only hope.

"Care to fill me in on the details of our little misadventure?"

Some more bullets impacted against the glass, which creaked ominously in retaliation. _Shit._ "Now's hardly the time, Shepard, but if you help me take out these mechs, I'll tell you whatever I know."

A lazy smile stretched across Shepard's features, those green eyes darting past the glass, calmly assessing the situation. "Stay down," spoken with a hint of amusement.

_Stay..._ "Wait, no, Shepard don't..." he reached for her arm, but she was already emerging from fire. _Shit, Miranda is going to kill me._ He lurched from cover, eyes scanning across the platform to find a target for his biotics.

One problem though. There wasn't a piece of machinery that hadn't been reduced to a smoldering mess of wires.

Jacob glanced briefly at Shepard, who was now examining the rifle with cool detachment. Wow, she was everything they said. And more.

Much, much more.

Then again, he thought grimly, she needs to be. _Or we're all screwed._

"I'll take that explanation any time now." Cool, calm, collected — the epitome of a perfect soldier.

Jacob nodded, pacing a few feet away as he collected his thoughts. "Do you remember the attack on the Normandy?"

"The details are a bit fuzzy, but I'm starting to get the picture," came the droll reply. "It was bad, I take it?"

"You could say that," Jacob smiled briefly, crossing his muscular arms in front of his chest. "My name is Jacob Taylor. I'm a soldier, like you. And the truth is that, well, Shepard, you died."

Nothing, no change of expression, not even a flinch.

"Clearly, there is more to this story since I am standing right here," her tone was dangerously low.

"Shepard, when I first saw you, you were nothing but meat and bones." A flinch. Jacob felt bad, springing this news on her like this, but he was a firm believer in honesty. Besides, how could they expect Shepard to work with them if she was always looking for a knife in the back?

"I...see..." though she clearly didn't. Her skepticism was written all over her face. "And so you brought me back..."

"We brought you back because we believe that the Reapers are a threat, but it's taken a long time to bring you back, Shepard. Two years, to be exact. That's what the Lazarus project is. It was all about resurrecting you."

Shepard's mouth opened, then closed, then opened and closed again. The soldier closed her eyes, clearly struggling to put all of this together."

"My crew...?" Her voice was tightly controlled, visibly struggling to wrap her mind around all of this.

The smile left Jacob's face. "Most of them made it, Shepard. Joker, Ashley, Dr. Chakwas, even that asari," he added off-handedly, remembering that she was someone of some importance.

"Liara," Shepard's shoulders relaxed noticeably. She took a deep, shuddering breath, those green eyes coming into sharp focus on Jacob. "You said most..."

"Navigator Pressley, a few others," he admitted, watching those eyes close, and then open, the pain replaced with a new hardness.

"I...see." A resigned sigh escaped her lips. "You said it's been two years?" He nodded. "So where am I exactly?"

He hesitated. He should have known that this question would come. Technically, he was not authorized to inform Shepard that this was a Cerberus facility. That information was to come from directly from Miranda. But Shepard wasn't scheduled to wake up for at least another week. And the base was under attack.

But perhaps Shepard didn't know who Cerberus was. Or maybe her exposure to the organization was limited.

Either way, he had to come clean.

"Shepard...this is a Cerberus facility." Shepard's eyes darkened, her posture growing deathly still. The temperature in the room seemed to drop at least ten degrees.

"And exactly what interest does a terrorist organization have with keeping me alive?"

Oh yeah, she'd definitely heard about them.

"As much as I would love to explain all of that, Shepard, we need to get to an escape shuttle as soon as possible." As if on cue, his comlink began to crackle.

**"Is anybody there? This is ...son. I'm trapped in the server room and.. Argh! They're cutting ... doors."**

Jacob tapped his communicator. "Wilson?" he ignored Shepard's hawkish glare. Whether she believed him or not, Jacob was a soldier, and his first priority had to on saving as many people as possible. "This is Jacob. I'm here with Shepard."

**"Shepard's...alive?"** More static. **"Never mind. You need to get to the server room...holed up here. Killed everyone...not much time."**

Jacob frowned. Wilson was in the medical branch; technically, he shouldn't have any access to the server room. But it was possible that the security lock down had triggered a malfunction in the system.

Shepard's hand closed over his shoulder. "We'll talk more about this later. Right now, let's go rescue your friend."

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Her head was beginning to throb.

Jordan had long since tuned Wilson out, ignoring the scientist's ungrateful whining and incessant complaints. They'd found the man, as expected, in the server room, though he'd been injured the process. Nothing more than a flesh wound – a bullet had grazed his calf, but from the way he'd carried on, you would have expected that he was in his final moments of life. She'd instantly disliked him, though she could not exactly pinpoint the reason why, but all the same had helped patch up his leg and gotten him onto his feet.

They'd encountered little resistance since that time, only a few loose clusters of mechs that had been easily dispatched, but the near constant bickering between him and Jacob was beginning to wear her patience thin.

"I'm telling you, we need to go the other shuttle bay." Wilson's eyes darted rapidly across the room, as if expecting an ambush any moment.

"That area is overrun." Jacob replied calmly, though his voice bore the telltale signs of tension. "We need to keep moving forward."

Jordan was a short distance away watching the last of Miranda's mission logs. She exhaled softly, watching the mysterious woman fade from sight, the last of the puzzle pieces slipping into place.

First and foremost was that she had died. Not exactly the way she had wanted things to happen, but there it was. Somehow, Cerberus came into possession of her body.

_Her body_. Jordan would not soon forget walking into that room, with dozens of screens streaming holos of muscles and bones and tests results — all of her, she realized with a shudder.

Somehow, over the course of two years they had put her back together again. No small feat. Lastly, there was the undeniable fact that someone on this base was trying to kill her. Considering how many credits had been spent on this project, it was a bit disconcerting. Someone really must want her dead.

So now she needed to figure out who was behind it all.

She shifted past Wilson and Taylor, listening for the telltale signs of them falling into step behind her. Whatever mystery she had walked into, she could ill-afford to spend her last moments waiting for trouble surprise her.

Funny how it should anyway.

No sooner had she opened the shuttle bay door, seeing a very alive Miranda standing in front of her (this she only recognized because of her own hazy memories and the few fragmented journal entries she'd pieced together), but then, much to her surprise and dismay, Miranda lifted her gun.

"Miranda," Wilson's voice came out in a startled squawk. "But you were…"

The Cerberus operative lifted her pistol, sending a bullet point-blank into the scientists' forehead. "Dead?" Her lip curled up into a snarl.

"Miranda, what the hell..." Jacob sputtered, as Jordan lifted her rifle, leveling it at the woman's chest.

"Wilson tried to have me killed," Miranda's eyes remained on Jacob's form only briefly before shifting over to Jordan, the more obvious threat. "He was sloppy, left his fingerprints all over the system."

"Was that really necessary?" Miranda's eyes narrowed sharply at the accusation.

"Shepard, he sent two dozen mechs to kill me. Those drones decimated my staff, not mention you, I might add."

_She survived two dozen mechs?_ "He could barely walk straight." Jordan countered, still unwilling to concede the point. "Do you really think he was in a position to hurt me?"

"Not anymore."

Jordan barely suppressed the urge to wipe that smug smile off of the brunette's face.

The smile faded. "Look, Shepard, we really don't have the time to argue about this. Let's get to safety and then we can discuss this."

Jordan slowly lowered her rifle. "Why should I go anywhere with Cerberus?"

Miranda shot an irritated glare towards the dark-skinned Cerberus operative. "Jacob," her tone carried a hint of menace. "I should have known your conscience would get the better of you." His posture stiffened, mouth clamping firmly shut though it was clear he wanted to argue the point. Miranda shook her head slightly, eyes coming into sharp focus on Jordan.

"You can come with us or choose to stay here, Shepard. The rest of the escape shuttles have already gone. I doubt there are any survivors, and I can't be sure Wilson didn't include some self-destruct sequence in his tampering. Of course, if you stay, you'll be sure to let us know?"

Jordan's lip twitched. Oh, this one was going to be an absolute joy to work with.

She took a step towards the shuttle bay, pausing briefly by the brunette, her voice low. "If I did that," she paused, allowing the words to linger, "I wouldn't have the pleasure of watching you explain how Wilson nearly destroyed a four billion credit investment, Ms. Lawson."

She continued on towards the shuttle bay, casting a brief glance over her shoulder towards the Cerberus agent, who was practically fuming.

Jordan smiled.

A _joy._


	2. Reservations

_Author's Note: Thanks to all who read reviewed, and faved this story. I haven't quite finished the next chapter yet – life has been incredibly hectic as of late and my writing time has been limited. A slight deviation in this chapter from the story. _

_Again, Jordan is mine. Everything else belongs to Bioware._

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 2: Reservations<span>**

She was going to _kill_ that insufferable woman.

Miranda drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. She should have expected this, really. She'd read all of the reports, interviewed all of the right people, but there was nothing — _nothing_ — that could have prepared her for the sheer arrogance of that...that… The operative closed her eyes, willing herself to calm.

Shepard had just…sauntered into the Cerberus base as if she'd owned the place, ignoring everyone as she stormed into her meeting with the Illusive Man. And the Spectre had had the nerve – the sheer _gall_ – to come out issuing orders like she was in charge of this operation. Who the hell did she think she was?

Even now, she hadn't said so much as two words beyond ordering them to follow her lead as she boarded the shuttle. Then, when Miranda had arrived, Shepard had been silent, sulking in her chair, arms crossed defiantly over her chest. She had refused to even acknowledge Miranda's presence, staring pensively out the viewport void even when the operative had sat directly across from her and regarded her with a pointed glare.

Miranda sighed in frustration. Wilson's betrayal had not been all that unexpected. In fact, she had even included the probability of it in her most recent reports to the Illusive Man (it still amazed her that her subordinates would believe their personal logs were actually _private_). Ultimately, it had been decided to leave things in place as they were. A field trial for Shepard, as you will.

And one that she passed with flying colors.

Of course, that Wilson had been able to plan such an elaborate deception was unexpected. Miranda had not anticipated the sheer number of mechs Wilson had sent to terminate her. She had planned on a handful, a dozen, perhaps. She should have had plenty of time to secure Shepard.

Instead, she'd been caught in her own life-and-death struggle while Shepard and Jacob played soldier on the front lines. _That_ bothered her more than she cared to admit. She should have known Wilson would try to target her. She was paid to know that – to know _everything _– and she was damn good at her job.

Miranda Lawson didn't fail. She didn't make mistakes. And now she'd made two. Not only had Wilson nearly managed to stage a successful coup, but she'd been forced to rouse Shepard before the final round of testing could occur.

Disaster upon disaster.

"Tell me about Freedom's Progress."

Miranda's eyes lifted, meeting Shepard's intense green gaze. For now, it was just the two of them – Jacob was still in the back of the shuttle, checking on their weapons prior to touchdown.

"We don't know what to expect." It was the truth. No one had ever gotten to a colony so quickly after an attack. And they were literally entering uncharted territory – most available maps were pre-colonization and listed Freedom's Progress as unihabited.

"Well," Shepard leaned forward, resting her forearms on her legs, the intensity of her emerald gaze unsettling. Miranda operative prided herself on her ability to read people, to understand their motivations, to anticipate their responses. But Shepard's face revealed nothing, her true feelings carefully concealed behind a mask of stoicism. "What did you find before?"

"Nothing." Miranda settled back in her chair, crossing her legs. For now, she'd have to set her personal feelings aside – Shepard was a mystery she'd have to unravel later. "We've never been the first on the ground after an disaster like this. I can tell you that the Alliance investigation teams have never found anything significant. No bodies. No signs of struggle. The colonists just disappeared."

Those green eyes narrowed. "Colonies don't just disappear."

Miranda arched an eyebrow. _Exactly._

"Thousands of people are gone, Shepard." Jacob rested his hand on a bulkhead, slipping into his seat. His return was a merciful reprieve. "That's why you're here."

Shepard nodded, and Miranda frowned. For some reason, Shepard afforded Jacob a certain level of trust she seemed unable, or unwilling, to grant Miranda. That grated on her, but it was something she would have to deal with for the time being.

The rest of the trip to Freedom's Progress was mercifully silent.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Everything about this felt... _wrong_.

Jordan frowned, nudging aside a pile of dirt with the tip of her boot. A layer of snow covered the ground, coating everything with a fine dusting of white that might have been pretty had it not been so damn _eerie_.

There was nothing here.

No signs of an attack. No apparent signs of struggle. It was like everyone had just gotten up and left. Only that was impossible. People didn't just decide to leave in the middle of dinner. They didn't leave all their possessions behind. Jordan's eyes flickered over a crib in the far corner, the mobile still turning.

This place _reeked _of death.

"Shepard, I think I've got something here."

Jordan's boots crunched on the light dusting of snow as she made her way towards where Jacob was standing. Miranda was crouched in front of him, next to a security mech that had attacked them, eyes narrowed in deep thought. Her body tensed as Jordan approached. The Spectre could only imagine Miranda was as eager to get away from this place as she was.

Or maybe it was Jordan she was so eager to escape.

_"Just one more."_

_"Miranda, is this really necessary?"_

_Those blue eyes flashed a warning at Jacob. "We have to make sure all her memories are intact."_

_"And asking about Kaiden wasn't enough?" Jordan snapped, her patience wearing thin. _

_Miranda shook her head in apology, her features softening. "I'm sorry, Shepard. I know that memory is an unpleasant one for you, but it was necessary. But Alenko's death was recent, and I really need to know how your long-term memory is holding up," A pause, as she cleared her throat. "About Torfan..."_

_Jordan instinctively rose out of her chair. "We are done."_

_"Miranda..."_

_"Shepard, I can assure you these tests are..."_

_"To hell with your damn tests," Jordan's voice dropped to a dangerous octave. "We are finished. Understand?"_

Torfan.

Some people called it her greatest triumph. Proof that she was willing to do what was necessary for the greater good. Only a few, precious few, knew she felt very differently.

Torfan was one of her greatest mistakes.

She had been young then. Stupid. A kid. And hell-bent on avenging the deaths of her family and of all the colonists lost to the damn batarians. In the process she had gotten nearly her whole team killed. Most of her friends had died, and those precious few who survived would spend the rest of their lives permanently maimed or disfigured and cursing her name.

She was a fool.

Since that day, she had kept a low profile, trying desperately to stave off her reputation as a heartless butcher. She might have succeeded into her descent to obscurity, had Eden Prime never happened.

Saving the galaxy from Saren, from the Reapers, had been her atonement. Cerberus would never, could never, understand that. No doubt if the Illusive Man knew the truth, he would not have been so quick to reject Miranda's proposal of a control chip.

Yet another reason to dislike the operative. A control chip would have rendered her little more than a mindless automaton. She would have been nothing more than a machine, incapable of acting without Cerberus' influence...

A slave.

Still, she could at least be grateful for the Illusive Man's veto. But she harbored no illusions about his motives. She was still essentially a Cerberus prisoner. There was no guarantee that if she didn't cooperate they still wouldn't use the control chip.

How fortunate for them that Jordan believed the Reapers were behind these disappearances.

There was no proof, of course. But the lack of proof in and of itself was damning. No civilization, however sophisticated, could have succeeded in wiping out a colony without help. Only the Reapers had the resources to make that happen.

But they were not working alone. Someone _had_ to be doing their work for them. The only question was who?

And more importantly, _why?_

"Someone else is here, Shepard." Miranda's tone was grim. "These mechs were reprogrammed to attack humans."

Programmed to attack…. Jordan knelt beside Miranda. "But the colonists _were_ humans!"

"Precisely," came the clipped response. "Whoever's responsible didn't do a good job of covering their tracks. The programming is sloppy, and the timestamp indicates it was done _after _the colonists were abducted."

"A present from our kidnappers?"

"No," Jacob shook his head. "This was recent."

"Exactly how recent?"

The whisper of air against the back of her neck was her only warning. One second, she was leaning behind a disabled mech. The next...

_Tali?_

"Shepard?" Confusion, mingled with shock and betrayal. "Is that … you're alive?"

There were four of them, three of them marines, and they all had their weapons trained on the three humans. It was only fair, of course, since she, Miranda, and Jacob had drawn their rifles as soon as the quarians had entered.

"Cerberus," one of the quarians (the leader, obviously) lifted his rifle menacingly.

"Prazza, stop it. This is Shepard!" Tali stepped in front of him as Jordan gestured for Miranda and Jacob to lower their arms. Reluctantly, the quarians followed suit.

"Tali," Jordan smiled, holstering her sidearm, She removed her helmet, staring at the familiar figure with a mixture of delight and disbelief, and began walking towards her old friend. But Tali stepped back hesitantly, and Jordan froze, frowning with confusion.

Three rifles swiveled to meet her. Behind her, she could hear the telltale signs of her own team reloading. This was going to be a bloodbath if no one stopped it.

Jordan glanced over to Tali, wishing she could get a read on what was going on behind that stupid mask. Someone, somewhere, needed to invent a cure for the weakened immune system that afflicted all of the quarian people. Then maybe someone could get a damned read on their emotions.

Maybe the Salarian Special Tasks Group?

"Tali," Jordan ventured cautiously, lifting her hands in surrender. "It's me...Shepard. Remember...your pilgrimage? Saren? The geth? Sovereign?"

"Don't listen to a word she says. She's with Cerberus." Prazza's voice dripped with venom.

"Care to fill me in?" Jordan cast a quick glance over at Miranda, who shrugged unapologetically.

"A slight difference in opinion," the operative arched an eyebrow in silent challenge. "Again, I was not involved."

"A slight difference in opinion that involved blowing up one of our homeships!" Tali's arms crossed over her chest. Jordan shot Miranda a murderous glare.

"They had three of our agents in custody," as if that explained everything. Sighing, Jordan turned her focus back to Tali, chewing on her lower lip. This was not going as she had anticipated.

Was it really true? Had everyone really moved on?

"Tali," she tried again, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Her eyes remained on the other three quarians, though she made no move to defend herself. "The reports were true," ignoring the frown Miranda shot her way. She could go to hell. "I was dead, but Cerberus brought me back. I'm here investigating the disappearance of human colonies."

"She's lying! It's impossible..."

"Prazza. Shut. Up." Tali's patience was wearing thin, the quarian casting a glance over her shoulder. "I am still in charge of this mission and it's my decision."

"You can't…"

"Prazza," Tali's tone was low. "If I have to involve the Admiralty board..." her voice trailed off, the threat hanging in the air.

After a lengthy silence, Prazza nodded. "Understood."

Tali sighed, turning back to Jordan, who'd been watching the exchange with a fair bit of interest. She had been wrong to assume Tali was following someone else's orders.

Apparently, a lot had changed in her absence. Some of it for the better.

"Shepard, you'll have to forgive Prazza. Cerberus hasn't exactly done a lot to inspire confidence with my people." The quarian took a cautious step towards Jordan, whose shoulders relaxed in relief. "And now to hear you're alive, and working with them…"

"I'm not working with them, Tali," she corrected, well aware that Miranda must be fuming by now. "I'm here investigating the disappearance of the human colonies. This is not the first one to go missing," Jordan paused, hesitating briefly before adding, "What are you all doing here?"

The quarians glanced quickly amongst themselves. Tali began, "We're trying to find one of our own — Veetor. He was working here when we lost contact with the colony. We came to investigate."

"What was a quarian doing in a human settlement?" Jacob asked.

"He was on his pilgrimage." Tali admitted. "Veetor was always...skittish around crowds. He wanted to find a nice, out-of-the way settlement where he could work as an engineer."

"I see," that explained the quarian presence here. "Have you found any signs of Veetor?"

"Besides the mechs?" Tali shook her head. "Something clearly has him worried."

"I imagine a bunch of missing colonists would do that," Jordan responded dryly. "How about we team up to find Veetor? It'll be like old times." Tali stiffened, and Jordan wondered what she said wrong.

"I think that would be a good idea," Tali agreed softly. "But we should split into two teams.

"And now we're working for Cerberus?" came Prazza's outraged response.

"No, Prazza, you're working for me, and I'm expecting you to follow orders." Tali's tone snapped through the air like a whip.

Jordan smiled.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Shepard was _alive_.

Her heart thumped painfully in her chest.

_Alive_.

Tali'Zorah vas Neema nar Rayya drew in one deep breath, then another. Keelah, it was too much — it was all too much. To dare. To hope. Two years of mourning, of an emptiness that refused to relinquish its insistent hold. Endless hours of staring emptily into space, until one of her shipmates would catch her off-guard and she would again lose herself in the monotony.

Shepard was alive.

She could live a hundred lifetimes and never believe it. But when the trio of humans had emerged from around the corner, when their leader had lowered her weapon and removed her helmet. When she had first laid eyes on the familiar auburn hair and met that shocked green gaze.

There were no words.

Prazza hissed in pain, drawing her back to the present with an angry bark. "Pay attention! You almost punctured my suit."

Tali's eyes narrowed at the admonition. "If you hadn't charged ahead you wouldn't have ripped your suit in the first place." She administered the first dose of intravenous antibiotics directly into the site of his suit's tear. Fool. He was lucky to be alive.

"There is no way I'm leaving Veetor in the hands of Cerberus! Don't you remember what they did to us?"

Tali's eyes closed. There was the truth of the matter. Yes, Shepard was alive, but she was working for Cerberus.

The same Cerberus that had tried to blow up one of her people's homeships.

She swallowed, opening her eyes and focusing on the task with characteristic proficiency. Mending the tear in Prazza's suit was the easy part — keeping him alive long enough to get him to the doctor a very different one. She placed a medigel against his skin, delivering another dose of intravenous antibiotics and then focused on patching the tear.

If only her people could reclaim their homeworld.

Tali pressed her lips together as she sealed the tear, taking care to ensure that the patch had no loose seams.

"Tali'Zorah, you cannot trust her." Prazza's voice was almost pleading. "She's with them now. She's the enemy."

Tali's eyes fluttered shut for the briefest of moments, pushing to her feet abruptly. "Pray that I don't have you court-martialed for disobeying my orders. Watch him." The final command she called over her shoulder to one of her few remaining squadmates as she headed in the direction she'd sent the Cerberus agents.

She wasn't sure what to believe, but she knew she needed answers. Her stomach continued to dance nervously as she quickly approached the room where Veetor was supposedly hiding, pausing briefly outside the doorway to eavesdrop on the hushed voices.

"...need to get him out of here before the quarians take him." That would be the one Jordan had called Miranda.

"...need information on the colonies...interrogate..." a male voice this time.

_Shepard, how could you?_

A surge of anger coursed through her body as stormed through the doorway, realizing only belatedly that she should have drawn her pistol first. Going in unarmed against three humans wasn't one of her best ideas.

Then again, this was Shepard, so being armed was probably futile.

"You can't," Tali shouted angrily, unleashing her full fury as she stormed up to the former Spectre in righteous indignation. Tears stung angrily at her eyes, and for once she was grateful for the helmet that concealed her expressions.

Miranda and Jacob had swung their guns in her general direction, though Shepard immediately lifted her hand in a sharp gesture that halted their progress. Veetor cried out quickly, his lengthy arms wrapping his head as he cowered in a corner. Shock filled the Spectre's surprised gaze, though it was quickly replaced by something...

"Tali..." Jordan spoke calmly, lifting both hands in surrender. "Listen..."

"No, you will listen." Tali cut the human off abruptly, her shoulders sinking in deep disappointment. How could Shepard do this to her...how could she ally herself with these...these monsters? "Are you insane? Veetor is sick, Shepard. He needs medical treatment, not an interrogation!"

It was Jacob who spoke first. "We're not going to hurt your friend. We just want to see what he knows about the missing colonists. We'll return him to you unharmed as soon as we're done."

"Prazza was an idiot, and he and his men have paid for it." Tali countered angrily. "But Veetor is traumatized. You can't take him. I won't allow it."

Miranda appeared furious, and was about to open her mouth when Jordan raised her hand, forestalling further debate. "We're not going to take Veetor, Tali. He's free to return with you. But could we please make a copy of his omnitool data?" the Spectre's features softened. "Please, Tali. I need to know what happened to those colonists."

"I..." unable to keep the surprise out of her voice, Tali glanced back and forth between Shepard and the other Cerberus agents. Was Shepard working for Cerberus, or wasn't she? Where had she been these past two years? Why was she suddenly in the Terminus systems, and what in the world was going on?

"Shepard," Miranda barked sharply. "I don't think..."

"That's good, Lawson, because I expect you to follow my orders without question." Miranda shot Shepard a withering glance, and Tali pressed her lips together to suppress her own amusement.

At least some things hadn't changed.

"Tali, take Veetor. We'll help you get your injured back to your ship." Jordan's eyes shot towards the other Cerberus operatives. Miranda's face was contorted in a mask of carefully controlled outrage, while Jacob's...

Was that respect shining in his eyes? Keelah, she would never understand humans.

"Thank you, Shepard." Tali quickly made her way over to Veetor, wrapping an arm around the quivering quarian, not quite ready to lower her guard. Shepard or not, those were still trained Cerberus operatives and she did not dare trust them.

Or Shepard, she realized sadly, her heart sinking at the realization. At least not until she knew more about Shepard's motivations.

"Tali," Jordan's voice dropped, even though the two others were making their way out of the room. "I could use your help on this. Someone is abducting human colonists. I have to find out why." Tali lifted her head, her throat going dry at those green eyes bored into hers. "Join me...please."

"I..." Tali swallowed. "I can't." The face fell. "Shepard, I'm still trying to accept the fact you're alive and…" she closed her eyes. "And the fact that you're working with Cerberus now and I..." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "I thought you were dead." her voice almost broke. Almost. "We all did. I can't...it's a lot to process."

"Tali," a familiar hand covered her arm, and Tali glanced sharply at the floor, a blush spreading across her face. "I was dead. Cerberus brought me back. For this. I need your help."

"I..." What could she say? What was there to say? "I need more time, Shepard. I'm sorry. But I have a mission of my own now. I can't walk away from that. Not even for you."

Jordan's face fell, and Tali dropped her head. "Shepard, I'm sorry. I just need..."

_Time._

"I...understand." Jordan said nothing further, her lips pressed together in a fine line as she helped Tali escort Veetor to the quarians scout ship. Miranda and Jacob turned back towards the Cerberus shuttle, though Jordan lingered with the quarians, waiting until they had gotten all their casualties settled before turning to debark.

Shepard looked up one more time, her face an unreadable mask. "Goodbye, Tali," her head dipped slightly, not waiting for a response as she turned and made her way down the ramp.

Tali watched her debark in silence, eyes lingering for a long time on Shepard's back.

"Goodbye, Shepard."


	3. Reflections

_Author's Note: Wow - thank you all for the gracious reviews, faces, replies and responses. I never expected this story to take off as it did - especially since Mass Effect 2 has been around so long (comparatively, compared to some of the other Bioware games), but I am having a blast writing this. Special thanks to DoubleMMia who has been beta-ing this for me, despite the fact our files never seem to quite sync up. Also special thanks to Leige Lord for his excellent catch in that last chapter._

_This chapter was a long time coming, and I'm sorry - internal monologue is the the bane of my existence. And reviews are always appreciated and welcome._

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 3: Reflections<span>**

"No, absolutely not. She's not ready."

A cloud of smoke wafted through the air, though there was no odor, no accompanying burn of the eyes. Had she actually been in the same room as the cigar in question, Miranda might have waved her hand at the offending aroma. But she was not, a small but welcome concession, and instead paced impatiently back and forth, her arms crossed in front of her body, warding off a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

"Is that your true assessment of Commander Shepard's performance on Freedom's Progress?" the Illusive Man extinguished the smoldering remnants of a half-finished cigar in his ashtray and settled back in his chair. He studied his second-in-command with some interest, steepling his fingertips and resting them against his chin.

Miranda was a capable woman, as beautiful as she was intelligent, with a keen mind for tactics. She also never allowed trivialities like personal feelings to get in the way of accomplishing an objective.

The Illusive Man arched an eyebrow expectantly. For her to be so vehemently opposed to proceeding signified a legitimate concern.

Miranda closed her eyes, exhaling quietly. "The subject outperformed all physical test parameters. Psychological profiles are within acceptable limits. Intelligence quotient was off the charts."

"So she's a genius…"

"She's more than a goddamned genius," Miranda's gaze came into sharp focus on his. "Shepard is a bloody icon." For a moment her countenance faltered. Then, regaining her composure, she continued. "Yes, I know that all of her emotional and cognitive responses are within guidelines, but..." Miranda stopped pacing, tapping her booted foot against the ground. "Shepard poses the greatest threat this organization has ever faced. If she turns on us..." her voice trailed off.

She didn't finish. She didn't need to.

"I see," he shifted, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. "You still want to use the control chip."

"We're entrusting her with the fate of the galaxy, and of Cerberus."

"Do you believe the risks outweigh the benefits?"

Miranda remained silent. His concerns were valid, and in truth they mirrored her own. All of the available data pointed to the control chip's ability to override the subject's own decision-making processes. But it came at great cost. Cognition, memory, and personality were also affected, and always with disastrous consequences. The technology had been extensively in Cerberus laboratories, with a common theme. All subjects implanted with a control chip exhibited progressive mental deterioration, ultimately leading to insanity.

"I want you to work with her, Miranda. Talk to her. Gain her trust." He tapped a few buttons on his chair console. "I've reviewed your recommendations for a team. Care to explain?"

Miranda swallowed. Truth be told, there were a few places she would have preferred to place more experienced Cerberus operatives, but...

"I selected a team I believed would work well with Shepard's leadership style and personality, slanted heavily to former Alliance personnel, particularly the disenfranchised. A few key personnel — Chakwas and Joker, namely — were specifically selected because of their history with the commander and their relative harmlessness. Others — like Gabrielle, Kenneth, and Jacob, because of their history with the Alliance." _And to show Commander Shepard we're not all xenophobic idiots._

"I see..." the Illusive Man shifted in his chair, his arms lowering. "And Chambers?"

Miranda pursed her lips together. It was true that there had been several more qualified individuals, but...

"Chambers is a woman." The explanation was sufficient, if a bit vague. "Shepard's dossier indicates she would be more comfortable with a female assistant."

"I'm well aware of the Commander's sexual proclivities." He drummed his fingertips against the chair. "You intend for them to sleep together."

"I intend for her to be a diversion, but not a serious one," Miranda admitted. "As you well know the asari is otherwise indisposed right now, and it was determined that any contact with Dr. T'Soni should be delayed until the Commander's...loyalties were less fluid."

"I'm inclined to agree with you." the Illusive Man nodded. "Until we have earned Commander Shepard's full cooperation, we must proceed with extreme caution." He tapped a few keys on his console. "I've taken the liberty of selecting a few individuals who will form the core of Shepard's elite squad. You should find most of them on Omega, though the hacker will be at the Citadel."

Miranda's omnitool beeped and she pulled up the list, scanning the profiles quickly. The mercenary didn't merit a second thought — she'd used him before with satisfactory results, but... "A turian and a salarian?"

"The salarian is Professor Mordin Solus. He has an extensive background in genetic engineering as well as covert field experience. We need his expertise to help develop an antidote to counteract the seeker swarms that the Collectors used to paralyze the colonists on Freedom's progress."

Miranda nodded, skimming the salarian's profile. The professor had served some time with the Special Task Groups, a covert operations unite that had been responsible, among other things, for releasing the genophage that had all but sterilized the krogan species, an unfortunate necessity. Miranda hummed in approval, skimming over some more of the covert intelligence files Cerberus had acquired. His background was impressive, with a long list of publications in reputable scientific journals.

She glanced down to the next dossier, skimming over the turian's profile. He had a history of military service and had spent some time in C-Sec before resigning abruptly a few years ago. Proficiency as a sniper and… Miranda lifted her head, eyes searching her superior's in question.

"The Turian is Garrus Vakarian," the Illusive Man was nonplussed, confirming her suspicions. "He goes by the name Archangel, now. He's become a sort of folk hero among Omega's disenfranchised. He together a team of ex-mercenaries and soldiers that began to clean up Omega's streets," he paused, "a fact that has not endeared him to the local mercenary groups."

"He was on Shepard's team when she defeated Sovereign. He idolized her. If Shepard convinces him to turn on us…"

"Then I expect you to have contingencies in place. Shepard's original team consisted of wide array of humans and aliens. I want to mimic the conditions surrounding her initial success as closely as possible. But we proceed with caution. The Normandy's AI will monitor Shepard's progress. It will report to you if it notes anything of concern."

"And if it does?" She already knew the answer the question.

The Illusive Man regarded her grimly.

"Then we neutralize the threat."

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Jordan stumbled into the privacy of her quarters, collapsing against the cool metal door as it closed behind her. For a long moment, she focused only on the sound of her own breathing, trying to stave off the growing tide of uneasiness that had settled in her gut like a lead weight.

It was almost too much. First, the news of her own death. Then the realization that her friends, people she had fought and bled with, had moved on with their lives. Had left her behind.

Tali's rejection had hurt far more than she was willing to admit. Jordan had helped the quarian finish the final steps of her pilgrimage, giving her valuable intel on the geth that she had transmitted to the quarian fleet. They had become more than colleagues – they had become friends.

"_I .. I'm still trying to accept the fact that you're alive. And you're with Cerberus. I've got responsibilities now. A mission of my own. I can't walk away from that. Not even for you."_

A fresh wave of grief washed over her, and Jordan forced down the unpleasant memories, forcing herself to focus on her surroundings. The cabin was spacious, far more so than on the original _Normandy_, split-level and extravagant by military standards. Along one wall was an enormous fish tank (empty for the moment, she noted), next to which stood a small closet and locker that Jordan knew from experience would house her armor and sidearm. The bed was large, and a small sitting area with table took up the remainder of the lower level. A large, empty glass case (for her models, she realized, though she wondered where in hell that Miranda woman had gained that particular piece of intel) separate the two parts of the room, delineating a small office area with private communication center and...

Jordan swallowed at the familiar picture, making her way to the desk. She reached out and picked up picture frame. Absently, she reached out and traced a finger along its borders, heart thudding painfully as the images flashed across the holographic screen.

_Liara..._

She sank into the nearby chair, cradling the picture between her palms, her breath catching as she traced a thumb over the familiar image.

"_Tell me where she is." Jordan crossed her arms in front of her body, focusing her icy gaze on the man sitting calmly across the room._

"_My sources say she's working for the Shadow Broker. If that's the case, Shepard, she can't be trusted." The Illusive Man shook his head. "I'm sorry, Shepard, we will keep looking for her, I can assure you. In the meantime, we need to focus our attention on those abducted colonists. We've lost too many lives to ignore the Collector threat." His hand squeezed into a fist. "I won't wait until the Reapers are on the march. We need to take the fight to them."_

Jordan closed her eyes. She had wanted to argue further, to insist there was no way Liara would be working with the Shadow Broker, but her chance encounter with Tali had thrown her.

"_Distress beacon is ready for launch."_

"Will the Alliance get here in time?" Even through the rebreather mask, the subtle undercurrent of tension cut was plainly evident in the asari's voice.

"_They damn well better." Jordan glanced quickly over her shoulder, the fear in Liara's eyes mirroring her own. "They won't abandon us," consciously gentling her tone. The ship shuttered, the console sending a shower of sparks that sent Jordan skirting back quickly, nearly causing her to lose her balance. A hand pressed firmly against her back, steadying her._

_Jordan swallowed, grim gaze meeting the familiar blue one. "Liara, we need to get everyone to the shuttles."_

"_Joker won't evacuate." Liara shook her head. "And I'm not leaving you either."_

_The deck lurched sideways, sending the pair tumbling into the wall. Jordan grabbed ahold of Liara as she was flung against a bulkhead, letting her body cushion the asari's impact._

"_Liara, there's no time to argue. I need you to get the crew to the evac shuttles. I'll take care of Joker."_

_A pair of hands closed over her wrists. "I'm not leaving you," the blue eyes flashed with a fierce determination._

_Jordan reached up, pressing a hand against the side of Liara's helmet, her breath catching in her throat. "Liara." The ship shuddered. "Go. Now!"_

The pale eyelids fluttered shut. They had been together only a month – one glorious month between the Sovereign's defeat and the attack on the original _Normandy_. And then Jordan had died, and two years had passed her by.

Tali had moved on. Was it possible Liara had too? Jordan shook her head. She refused to believe that Liara was working for the Shadow Broker. Liara was a scientist – an archeologist. The very notion of her operating in the shadowy underworld was…

The sharp rap of knuckles against her doorway drew Jordan out of her train of thought. Her eyebrows furrowed with a flash of annoyance, heaving an irritated sigh as she pushed to her feet. She cast one final lingering glance at the image of her former lover, cautiously placing the picture back on the desk in the exact position she had found it. "Come in," she turned around, surprised to see Miranda Lawson step into the room.

It was Miranda. The Cerberus operative paused just inside the doorway, her azure eyes glancing quickly around the room before focusing on Jordan…

…who scowled in irritation. If she was going to be forced to work with Cerberus, the least they could do is afford her some measure of privacy when she was in her own goddamn cabin. She was about to say so, rising to her feet when Miranda dipped in apology, her cheeks tingeing the faintest color of rose.

"My apologies for the interruption, Commander, but there was a slight abnormality in your last blood results. I've come to collect some additional samples before we reach Omega." It explained a lot, like the medical kit she was carrying in her left hand, but still…

"Couldn't Chakwas do this in the medical bay?" Jordan grumbled as Miranda set up the kit on the desk, pointedly ignoring the protest as an array of syringes and cylindrical vials were revealed. Jordan visibly paled, an involuntary shudder coursing through her shoulders at the sight. Her jaws clamped shut. It would not do to let that ice-queen know her deepest, most intimate secret.

Jordan Shepard was absolutely terrified of needles.

"Dr. Chakwas is busy acquainting herself with the medical files of the _Normandy's_ new crew members." Miranda looked at Jordan out of the corner of her eye appraisingly. But if she had noticed Jordan's unusual behavior, she refused to comment on it, instead slipping on a pair of gloves as she began to open the contents of one syringe pack. "And it was assumed you would be busy briefing yourself on the dossiers of your future command team." Those blue eyes lifted now, narrowing slightly at the pale beads of sweat the dotted Jordan's upper lip. "I sent you those files almost five hours ago. Tell me you've read them."

"Well, as much as I have nothing better to do than read your wonderful reports," Jordan intoned dryly, barely suppressing a flinch as Miranda reached for her arm and began to disinfect her skin. "I've been busy meeting the rest of my _Cerberus_ crew."

They weren't a bad crew, strictly speaking. In fact, Jordan had been rather impressed at how –_ comfortable_ it had all been. The crew was similar to any number of Alliance vessels that she had served on. She'd spent a good bit of time teasing Joker, shared a drink with Chakwas, and she'd even managed to squeeze a laugh out of the recalcitrant Jacob. She'd sampled Hubert's fare (and even managed to swallow a few bites before she'd made an emergency trip to the head), made plans for a poker game with Ken and Gabby, and escaped a rather tenacious Kelly Chambers before finding her way to her own quarters.

Still, it was wrong. This was all wrong. Sure, they may call this ship the _Normandy_, but it wasn't her _Normandy_. It didn't smell like her _Normandy_, and the lights, the sounds – were all foreign. The crew, while they appeared (at least, on the surface), like any of the dozens of other Alliance crews she served on, remained painfully aloof, treating her with a reverence that she did not, could not possibly deserve.

She missed her friends. She missed Ash with her gruff, no-holds-barred demeanor and those eyes that would light up whenever she talked about her sisters. She missed Garrus, and the playful, almost ribald banter that filled the corridors on the old _Normandy_. She missed Wrex with his dry wit and his tales of grand and glorious battles that had marked the pinnacle of the krogan species.

Hell, she even missed Pressly.

Miranda's head shot up, startled, her hand closing on Jordan's arm with more force than she'd intended. "You haven't read the files? Shepard, we'll arrive at Omega in two hours," her voice emanating with dismay and irritation.

"Okay, okay, I'll read them," Jordan snapped, eyes darting briefly to the spot where the syringe hovered menacing above her skin, feeling vaguely queasy. She glanced away quickly. "Just hurry up and finish so I can get to work."

Miranda's mouth opened in protest, then closed, instead focusing on her immediate task.

To her credit, Jordan managed not to scream when the needle pierced her skin, but only by mentally reciting the words of the Alliance handbook. Backwards. Fortunately, the other woman was good at what she did, and before Jordan even had time to get to the chapter on "Expected Code of Conduct when Encountering Sentient Non-Bipedal Species," it was over.

Miranda placed a quick healing strip of medigel on the injection site, and Jordan did her best to studiously ignore the vials that the operative carefully placed back into the medical kit.

"You know, Cerberus isn't as evil as most people believe." Miranda's voice was barely above a whisper, so soft that if Jordan hadn't been paying attention, she might have missed it. And the expression on the operative's face was one of regret.

"So you only perform nice experiments on living subjects?" came the sarcastic reply. Miranda stiffened. "Pardon me. I didn't realize Cerberus spent its resources baking cookies and hosting sing-alongs."

It was a bit unfair, to be true. And Jordan knew it. But she was tired, and cranky, and emotionally exhausted from what had been a never-ending rollercoaster of emotions, and Miranda was a convenient target.

"We also build schools and hospitals for colonies in the terminus systems, protect human interests against a galaxy that would like nothing more than to exploit us." A pause. "Jacob and I kept the Batarians from releasing a plague on the Citadel that would have decimated the populations of multiple species." _Not just humans._ Miranda glanced at Jordan out of the corner of her eye. "And we offer military protection against colonists against raids from Batarian slaver convoys."

Now it was Jordan's turn to stiffen, hawkish eyes darting up to meet Miranda's in challenge, her right hand curling into a tight fist.

"_Jordan, help me!"_

"_Tessa!"_

_Her world exploded in a haze of fire and blood, the smell of sulfur and bile rising to her throat as her sister's form crumbled to the blackened earth, her lifeblood pumping from her torso where the bullet had pierced her stomach._

"_No!" Jordan scrambled the few feet, arms wrapping around the eleven-year-old as she cradled the dying child. A kind of enraged frenzy pumped through her body as her fingers pressed against the wound, attempting to staunch the flow of blood, knowing instantly that her sister's life was forfeit._

_Those bright green eyes found Jordan's, a small, slender hand reaching up to touch her face, before it all went dark._

"Shepard."

Jordan blinked as she lifted her head. For a moment – a very, very brief moment – she something akin to concern in the operative's gaze.

"Get out." It was less of a command than a harsh whisper. Whatever compassion that had been in the operative's eyes faded, replaced by a fiery anger as Miranda slammed the lid on the medical kit shut, storming out of the room without another word.


	4. The Queen

A/N: Thanks to everyone whose read, faved, and reviewed. I apologize for not having time to respond to them all - I just finished a grueling 4 hour exam that has dominated my time as of late. Which is another reason I haven't gotten this chapter out sooner. Well, that and pure laziness. Special thanks again to my beta DoubleMMia.

Enjoy!

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 4: The Queen<span>**

As far as missions went, it wasn't the most auspicious start.

From the moment he'd set foot in the cargo bay, Jacob had known that they were in trouble. There was enough tension between Miranda and Shepard to cut with a knife, and the two women had barely spoken to each other save for a few clipped, terse sentences.

Call it a hunch, but Jacob had a suspicion that this most recent silence stemmed directly from a recent detour Shepard had ordered them to make. They had been about an hour outside of Omega when Shepard had ordered the ship divert course to a planet in a nearby system. Alchera — the final resting place of the _SSV Normandy_, Shepard's first ship. Jacob still wasn't sure what had sparked that decision, only that Shepard had ordered them to change course immediately.

Miranda had immediately tried to countermand Shepard, which sparked a huge argument. An argument Shepard won, considering she was ultimately in charge of the mission. Of course, it didn't help that Joker had been a little too gleeful when he announced over the comm system they had changed course.

While Miranda had retreated to her office to skulk, Shepard had taken a shuttle and traveled to the surface alone, braving the harsh subzero temperatures as she combed the wreckage of her old ship.

He had offered to accompany her, but she had refused him, albeit politely. Her expression was so pained that he didn't pursue the matter further. So they waited, tracking Shepard's progress using the _Normandy's _shipboard sensors. As it turned out, the planet was abandoned, so there was no real danger in Shepard being alone. It took nearly eight hours for Shepard to bring the shuttle back – carrying a small box and a helmet that looked like it had seen better days.

Dog tags. She had spent the better part of a day combing that frozen wasteland of a surface for the dog tags of her missing crew members. Say what you like, but that was some dedication.

And his respect for Shepard rose another notch – talk about loyalty.

They'd left the wreckage on Alchera undisturbed, though a small monument had been set up as a permanent memorial to those unfortunate souls who had not survived. There were no bodies left to save, only the cold, unfeeling bones of a star ship that had long been picked clean.

Jacob tried not to dwell on the fate of the original Normandy too much. After all, if their ultimate destination was through the Omega-4 relay, it was highly unlikely any of them would survive to old age.

The remainder of the journey to Omega had been uneventful, their arrival marked by a special envoy of heavily armed aliens who provided the trio a special "escort" to see their boss the second they'd disembarked.

Aria T'Loak. The self-proclaimed Queen of Omega. Beautiful as she was deadly, the asari had wrested control of the station from a krogan battlemaster by turning his own men against him centuries ago, reducing the once-proud warrior to a mere shell of his former self, then keeping him around on a leash as a warning to any who would oppose her.

_Don't fuck with Aria._

It was the only rule on Omega that mattered. And the one rule Shepard seemed hell-bent on ignoring.

The conversation had begun pleasantly enough. Their weapons, of course, had been confiscated – but that was to be expected. Aria hadn't remained in power by taking foolish chances. They'd chatted a bit, and then got right down to business. Aria had been most intrigued by the story of Shepard's miraculous resurrection, and of course with their business on Omega. But when Aria had refused to grant them admission to the quarantine area, things had taken a turn for the worse.

"And exactly why are you refusing to let us past the quarantine?"

Aria leaned back against the padded cushion, her arms draped casually over the back, exuding an easy confidence that came from decades of unopposed rule. "I told you before that we aren't taking any chances with that plague getting out of the quarantine. Besides," Aria's mouth twitched sardonically, "there are gangs targeting any humans they see. And dead spectres make for some pretty convincing targets."

Shepard's lips pulled back in a wolfish grin. "They can certainly try," she leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. "But I'm a hard woman to kill."

Anto, Aria's batarian bodyguard, lifted the nozzle of his sawed-off shotgun slightly in a silent warning.

Not that a warning was necessary. They were unarmed and outnumbered three-to-one, and all of Aria's guards were waiting with twitchy trigger fingers to riddle their bodies full of holes ifthey so much as coughed wrong. And that didn't even take into effect that Aria could probably crush them all with her biotics.

"I'll take my chances. Tell your guards to let us in." Shepard's eyes flashed in challenge.

"I'll think about it," the asari waved a hand in the air, bringing her bodyguards to attention and signaling the end of the conversation. "I'll be in touch."

_In other words, get the hell out of my sight._

The smile faded from Shepard's face. The former spectre dipped her head in acknowledgement, rising gracefully to her feet. "If you don't mind, I think I'll have a look around the lower lounge. Maybe have a drink?" she said in a tone that made it clear she wasn't asking for permission.

_In other words, fuck you._

Jacob suppressed a smile as Aria nodded briefly, jerking her head towards the door as an indication that they were free to leave. Their weapons were thankfully returned to them once they were outside Aria's office, and the trio made their way wordlessly down to the lower levels of the popular nightclub.

Where aliens of all shapes and sizes populated the upper floors, here on Omega's lower levels, humans congregated, packed into alleyways and side streets, preyed on by the stronger street gangs that roamed the corridors.

Afterlife was not much different, and it took Jacob a moment to adapt to the much dimmer lighting that was used on the lower levels. It was much more crowded down here, the clientele much less glamorous. Mostly humans, with a few scattered aliens here and there. The dance floor was busy, and in the corner, a rather lithe asari dancer was gyrating on top of a table, though no one seemed to be paying attention.

"Jacob?" At least he had the good graces not to blush when Shepard called his name. Miranda rolled her eyes, and Shepard gave him a bemused smirk as they made their way towards the bar, where a batarian was wiping down the countertop.

"Well what do we do now?" Shepard muttered as they placed their drink orders, tossing a few credits on the countertop to cover the three beverages. Miranda shrugged, resting her elbows against the polished surface as she scanned the room with disinterest.

"It was almost like she knew you," Jacob mused, frowning as he remembered the way Aria's eyes had flashed in recognition when they first entered her office. "Shepard, have you been here before?"

"Not that I can recall," Jordan nodded as their drink orders arrived, tossing a generous tip onto the countertop.

Miranda glanced over at the pair, eyes narrowing at the drink in Shepard's hand, her lips pursed together in a fine line. The commander squinted at the brunette, frowning as she brought the rim of her glass to her lips. She was just about to take a sip when the drink was slapped from her hand. "Hey!" the protest died on her lips as Miranda whipped out her pistol, leveling it at the center of the batarian's forehead.

"What the hell are you doing?" Shepard scowled, reaching for Miranda's pistol, though she pulled away before the spectre's hand could reach her.

"He just tried to poison you," Miranda's lip curled in disgust, her tone deadly cold as she waved the barrel of her weapon in the barkeep's face.

"What's this?" A turian stepped forward, his words slurring as he rested his hands on the countertop to keep from swaying. "Whose poison?" Spoken a bit too loudly, his breath reeked of alcohol and a number of other, likely illegal, pleasures.

Jacob glanced around nervously. Several heads were beginning to turn in their direction, and a pair of bouncers began to move their way.

What happened next proceeded so quickly it was almost a blur.

The turian stumbled into Miranda, causing her shot to sail wide, shattering several bottles of expensive-looking liquor along the wall. The bartender used that diversion to duck down, emerging from behind the countertop with a shotgun, swinging it around to bear on the brunette.

Shepard cursed, lunging across the countertop and grabbing the nozzle of the shotgun. With a hard jerk, she pulled the batarian across the counter, but not before he could fire, the shot sailing wildly into the ceiling above a group of dancers.

Several screams rang out as Shepard punched the bartender, sending him cartwheeling into a nearby table.

"Shepard!" Miranda called out sharply, lunging towards the spectre. Jordan spun, jaw gaping open in surprise as she caught the operative in her arms, only belatedly realizing that Miranda had not been trying to reach her, but the turian behind her, who was in the middle of swinging a barstool at her head.

_Shit. _Jacob threw himself against the turian, though it was too little, too late. The stool caught both women along the sides of their heads, sending them sprawling forward. Jacob and the turian went down in a tangle of limbs, and then the bouncers stepped in, swinging their clubs and adding to the chaos.

Definitely not the best way to start a mission.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

The cool rough cloth pressed gently against her temple, drawing an involuntary groan from her lips as she pulled away. It wasn't that the gesture was unwelcome, but every touch sent a sharp pain shooting through her spine, and it was only with great reluctance that she opened her eyes.

The figure was blurry, a swirling mixture of reds and greens and browns that made her eyes water as they finally came into focus.

_Shepard._

The spectre's skin took on an eerie pallor under the dim lighting, tendrils of auburn hair plastered against her sweaty forehead. Her Cerberus armor was streaked with a layer of dust and grime and something else that strongly reminded Miranda of machine grease.

"Water." It was the first thing that came to mind. Shepard's lips curved in a slight grin, and she lifted a canteen, bringing the rim to Miranda's mouth.

She drank deeply, the liquid a soothing balm to her parched throat. When she finally finished, she lifted her head, cobalt eyes meeting Shepard's concerned green gaze. At any other time, she might have greeted the pity with scorn. But inexplicably, all she felt was relief that Shepard was still alive.

_A perfectly good waste of two years of your life if she died that easily. Isn't that right, Miranda? _

It was her father's voice, and one she had long grown accustomed to ignoring. "How long?" Miranda struggled to make sense of her muddled thoughts. She didn't even remember being rendered unconscious.

"Two, three hours at most," Shepard's arm slipped behind Miranda's back just as attempted to rise, her body giving way to pain. "Easy there – not too fast." Miranda hissed in pain, collapsing against the Spectre. "They tossed us out on the lower levels. When I came to our packs were being ransacked by vorcha."

Pale eyelids fluttered closed. Vorcha were little better than vermin, having only developed a rudimentary intelligence and a propensity for violence that kept the species from assembling as a collective for any length of time. Favored foot soldiers (though some might argue they were little more than cannon fodder) of the Blood Pack, a krogan mercenary band, they were formidable enough in their own right. But Shepard should have had little trouble dealing with one or two of them.

It was too much to hope, but she had to ask. "Our weapons?"

The smile faded. "Long gone by the time I woke up." She shook her head in disgust

Miranda swore. Could this day get any worse?

"Easy," one of Shepard's hands closed around her bicep as she attempted to push herself to her knees, arms trembling from the strain. "That was some blow you took to the head."

"I don't need _your_ help," Miranda pulled away, jerking her arm from Shepard's grip and rolling to a seated position. The sudden motion caused the room to begin spinning, and Miranda closed her eyes tightly, trying to stave off the overwhelming urge to lose her breakfast.

A long, terse silence permeated the room. And then came Shepard's soft reply. "I know."

Miranda tried to ignore the sadness in those light green eyes – a forlornness that was tinged with both regret, and something else the Cerberus operative knew all-too-well.

_Loneliness._

Shepard sighed, turning away and looking towards Jacob, who was lying on a small palette in the corner of the room. His eyes were closed and he sported several bruises and a vicious lump on his temple.

_Damn it, Jacob. Trying to play the hero, again?_ Miranda's eyes closed momentarily. At the first sign of trouble Jacob should have returned to the Normandy to get reinforcements. There would have been no hope to try to overpower Aria's forces – but the Illusive Man would have been more than capable of securing their release through other, likely monetary, means. "How bad is he?"

The spectre's lips pressed together in a fine line, eyes darting over to the prostrate form. Her brows furrowed. "He'll have a hell of a headache when he wakes up, but he'll be fine." Her voice was far from convincing.

Miranda looked away, staring numbly at the wall. They had been an item once, her and Jacob. But that was long ago. It had been the small things, inconsequential things, that had driven them apart. There relationship had been little more than fire, with no true substance, and apathy had been the driving force behind their separation.

"I'm sorry."

Miranda's gaze lifted sharply to meet Shepard's. The spectre was staring at her, studying her with that same, carefully constructed mask of stoicism.

"You've saved my life more than once," Shepard continued softly. "And I've repaid you by being an utter bitch. I wanted to apologize for that."

The admission was surprising, and for a long moment neither woman spoke, they stared at each other, each taking measure of the other.

Miranda's head dipped in acknowledgement, wincing as the action aggravated the cut above her forehead. The events from Afterlife were beginning to return from their hazy blur — she remembered vaguely slapping a poisoned drink out of Shepard's hands. She frowned — something about a turian and a bar stool...

_Talk to her. Gain her trust._

Miranda lifted her hand, probing gingerly at the cut above her eye. The blood had long since dried, but a thin river still caked its way down her temple.

"I can take care of that for you."

_I can take care of myself_, she wanted to say, though she didn't, the Illusive Man's words still echoing inside her head. She forced herself to nod, feigning gratitude she did not really feel, willing herself to remain still as Shepard closed the space between them, gently cleaning away the remainder of the blood on her forehead.

"So, what's your story, Miranda?"

The operative's head jerked sharply in surprise, raising her eyes to meet Shepard's own. "I..." she hesitated, having been about to tell Shepard that it was none of her business...

_Talk to her. Gain her trust._

Miranda sighed...she absolutely hated talking about herself, about _him..._ "I was recruited to work at Cerberus at a young age."

At sixteen, to be more precise, having fled from the only home she'd ever known with the only person she'd ever loved, escaping from a fate that was surely worse than death.

None of this she said aloud. Some thoughts were just too private to share.

"And your family?"

_Damn you_, Miranda was about to tell Jordan to piss off, but caught herself. "I suppose it's only fair;" she said guardedly, "after all, I've spent the past two years learning about you." She drew her legs in, wrapping her arms around her shins.

She hesitated, wondering exactly where to start. "I guess the first thing you should know is that I've undergone some extensive genetic modification." She lifted her eyes in challenge, knowing full well the traditional Alliance prejudices against any type of genetic manipulation. "My reflexes, biotics, intelligence, even my looks are all a product of my genetic tailoring."

"Beautiful and deadly?" There was no venom in Shepard's voice, only a wry amusement as she continued to daub at the cut on her temple. "I see the Illusive Man sent me one of his best."

"It was one of the reasons I was chosen to head the Lazarus project." Keeping her tone even, she ignored the teasing undercurrents in the spectre's voice. "It's my job to make sure you succeed, Shepard."

"I can see that," Shepard murmured quietly, wiping the last of her blood from her face; her frown deepened, jade eyes subdued. "So," she spoke with a deceptive casualness, "when did I last come to Omega?"

The inquiry was so subtle she had almost missed it, though it was so unexpected Miranda's head jerked sharply in Shepard's direction, her eyes narrowed. _How could she have known… _Shepard had in fact been on Omega before – or rather her corpse had been, and in the possession of the Collectors. In fact that was how Miranda had met the rather reclusive Dr. T'Soni.

She could lie, and perhaps even convincingly enough for Shepard to believe that she knew nothing – but eventually, Shepard would learn the truth. And when that happened, Miranda would be in the unfortunate position of having to explain her lie to Shepard.

Miranda sighed – she would have rather waited to have this conversation, but it seemed as if she had little choice. So she told Shepard about the Shadow Broker and his deal with the Collectors. She told her about meeting Liara – about how the asari had recovered her body with the help of a drell named Feron.

About how she had given Shepard's body to Cerberus.

The silence was deafening.

For a long time, Miranda studied Shepard, whose eyes seemed to have taken up a permanent interest at a spot on the wall. She studied her until it was no longer polite to do so, wondering if and when the fireworks would begin.

What she had not, could not have expected, was just how utterly exhausted the Shepard would sound when she finally gathered the courage to ask about her former lover.

"I kept her up to date with the progress of the Lazarus project." It had been one of the asari's requirements for turning over the body. "At first, she requested updates weekly. Then, monthly. Then, as more time passed..."

"...she quit asking altogether." Shepard's voice took on an uncharacteristic bleakness.

Miranda shifted uncomfortably. It was the truth, in a manner of speaking. T'Soni had quit asking about Shepard's progress as she had become more and more focused (or as some might call it, obsessed) with tracking down the Shadow Broker. But could it all be blamed on a simple lack of interest? Or had the asari simply given up hope?

It was a question she could not begin to answer.

Fortunately, she didn't need to. Over in the corner, Jacob unleashed a low groan, providing a welcome and needed distraction. Shepard pushed wordlessly to her feet, crossing the room to Jacob's side to check on the Cerberus operative. Miranda took the opportunity to examine her surroundings. She realized, for the first time, that this was no mere small alcove that Shepard had commandeered.

Someone actually _lived_ here.

Surprised that she hadn't recognized it earlier, Miranda began to study her environment in earnest. The small palette underneath Jacob was too organized to be a random assortment of blankets – that bed actually belonged to someone.

Miranda skimmed over piles of junk (no, not junk – unfinished projects, she mused) that occupied most of the room. Not that it was much of a room – the space made the bathrooms in the Normandy look like a palace. A small, narrow doorway led to what appeared to be a countertop and what looked like a small storefront, almost.

"Shepard, where are…"

"I've got the parts you requested," a tall, thin quarian rounded the corner, datapad in hand. He jerked in surprise when he realized he was speaking to Miranda and not Shepard. "Oh, your friends are awake?"

Jacob groaned, pushing up on his elbows as he rubbed the lump on his temple. "What … happened?"

"Short version, we got on Aria's bad side," Shepard jerked her head towards the quarian. "Kenn here helped me chase off a pack of vorcha that were picking through our supplies."

She looked up at the quarian. "So you have the couplings?"

"Yes," Kenn tapped the screen. "Would you like me to have those delivered to your ship?"

"Wait, what's going on?" Miranda frowned. She didn't recall authorizing any supply requests.

"Just a favor for Ken and Gabby," Shepard replied nonchalantly. She hesitated, eyes searching Miranda's. "Some power couplings, a few other tools."

_Trust me._ Miranda pursed her lips together at the unspoken request, dubious. After a moment of staring at the former Spectre, the operative nodded in acquiescence. Relieved to have achieved this one small victory, Jordan turned her attention back towards Kenn. "Throw in some rifles and I'll make it worth your while."

"You're welcome to look through my stocks – but you won't find much." The quarian shook his head. "Most of my stock is second-hand. Aria has given Harrot a monopoly on all of the supplies, in exchange for a cut of the profits." A pause, and then a low mutter. "His spies have probably already told Aria I've been helping you."

"I think we'll manage," Jordan replied dryly, her eyes flashing with something that hinted of amusement. "Why don't I take a look at your stocks?"

Kenn nodded, and with a quick glance over her shoulder Shepard pushed to her feet, following the quarian to the other room. Miranda looked at Jacob, whose chocolate eyes still bore the glaze of a recent concussion, and with a sigh she made her way to his side.

"How do you feel?"

"I'll be alright," he shook his head slowly, his eyes blinking rapidly as he reoriented himself. Reaching a hand to rub at the knot on the back of his head, he glanced over to the brunette, sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Miranda. They caught me before I could reach you."

Miranda sighed. "It's okay, Jacob. I should have paid closer attention. I shouldn't have assumed Shepard would be so foolish as to order a drink from a batarian bartender," she added with disgust. How could Shepard be so intelligent, but so foolhardy?

"I think you should ease up on her." Miranda fought the urge to roll her eyes at the adoration in Jacob's voice. "She's been through a lot, Miranda. Give her some time."

Time was the one thing they didn't have, Miranda wanted to argue, but didn't. Her former relationship with Jacob had granted them a familiarity with each other that she normally wouldn't have granted a subordinate, but in this matter she preferred to keep her own counsel.

Jacob sighed. "Look, I'm just saying – she's not a bad person, if you would just…"

"I will deal with Shepard in my own time," Miranda cut him off irritatedly, ignoring the momentary flicker of bruised feelings that flashed across Jacob's gaze, only to be replaced by that implacable command mask. Jacob's lips pressed together in a fine line, knowing that it would be better to drop the matter entirely than risk her wrath.

Fortunately, before she had time to dwell on it, Shepard returned, tossing both Jacob and her a set of pistols that had seen better days while shouldering a rifle that looked like it would pack a decent punch. "Great news," she drawled, allowing her gaze to linger over the two. "Kenn here says he knows a way to get past the quarantine."

"There's a series of tunnels that lead into the restricted zone." Kenn offered helpfully. "They're uninhabited, except for a few vorcha, but they should leave you alone." A pause. "I hope."

"Does Aria know about these tunnels?" Miranda asked.

"Well, yes, but it's not on any regular patrol route," the quarian hesitated. "It should be safe, mostly. Except for the vorcha." He paused. "And the smell. Most of the station's waste filters through that level."

_Great_, Miranda bit back the sarcastic retort as Jacob issued a low groan. _Next time, Miri, you stay on the Normandy._


	5. Author's Note

A note to all my readers:

First off, let me apologize for not updating my Second Chances story. Truth be told I had a ridiculous writers block. I started and erased the next chapter so many times my computer went on strike, and between that and starting my practice and everything else, I haven't had much time/energy for writing.

Rest assured I will be finishing this story. The reason I am posting an update is that I just found out will be pulling any M rated stories, stories with sex, alcohol, and swearing, and violence.

They will also be burning bibles and little kittens, apparently.

Because of this, I can't promise you my stories will be here today, forever, or 5 years from now. What I can promise you all is this. I am creating an account on Archive of our Own, and I have a Deviant Art page (under AlexisCaelli) that I will post to if any of my stories get deleted. If you would like to continue to follow me, please send me an email at alexiscaelli (at) yahoo (.) com and I'll put you on a list that I will use to inform you all of my new residence in the event my stories are deleted from this site.

Also, I would like to let you all know that in a little under two weeks I will be having a fairly major operation and will be unable to write or post for probably a few weeks, if not a month or two while I recuperate. So as of right now, I'm placing this story on hiatus until I get better.

To all who have read my stories, thank you so very much for your patience. I hope to do right by you all now and in the future.

And just so this chapter cannot be deleted for containing only an author's note, here is the first paragraph of the next chapter :)

* * *

><p>A pair of booted feet raced down the sewer, tiny splashes of water kicking up behind the fleeing figure, who clenched the small bundle tightly to her chest. Behind her, heavier footfalls trailed her in ominous pursuit, the smell of sweat and death mingling with the putrid under city of Sydney.<p>

_I'll never make it._ Eyes darting around frantically as she searched for a way out, the teenager banked sharply to the right, ducking underneath a pile of waste and refuse that would do little to hide her from any eyes that were truly intent on finding her.

But maybe, just maybe, they would run past. Maybe she would escape.

Praying silently to a god she did not truly believe in, Miranda buried her face in the soft woolen blanket, the sound her her racing pulse echoing loudly in her own ears.

_Don't wake up. Please. Just stay asleep for a little while longer._


End file.
